Kitchen Banter

Today I made some pizzas. Actually, you can say I ‘assembled’ the pizzas and heated them in the oven. ‘Assembling’ consisted of buying ready pizza bases from Monginis, spreading Maggi Hot & Sweet Tomato Chilli Sauce, adding sliced chicken sausages that were lying in my freezer, putting in some chopped capsicum, shredded processed cheddar cheese (I had cheddar so didn’t bother buying mozzarella) and finally topping it all with sliced black olives – straight out of a jar. This master piece was then heated in the oven till it could pass off as respectable pizza.

I served it with a flourish at tea time being mighty pleased with myself, considering all the effort that when into ‘assembling’ it. My daughter immediately refused to eat it unless ALL the toppings were taken off. After much deliberation (read threatening) we reached a truce and only the sausages and capsicum came off.

The MIL, who was feeding the ungrateful little child, said “The bread is ready-made, na?” I smiled weakly and nodded. In our household ‘ready-made’ is a bad word. Ready-made. Ready-maid. Like when one talks about a person being ‘easy’. *wink, wink* And the use of these ‘easy’ items amounts to cheating in cooking. There was a time when I would make the pizza from scratch - knead the bread dough, cook up a luscious red tomato and oregano sauce and use freshly cooked chicken pieces. But those were the carefree days, when cooking was not a chore, it was an art form.

For some who grew up in Bahrain on a hugely unhealthy diet of frozen meat products, packaged munchies, school canteen sandwiches and weekly take-out dinners, I learnt that cooking needn’t be a big pain. You just need to know how to manipulate the original recipe by using the various products available in supermarkets. And voila! You can dish out scrumptious dishes with minimum time and effort expended. Though I loved cooking when I was younger, I quickly realised that I only enjoyed it when the recipes were super easy. I mean, why would anyone in their right mind spend hours in the kitchen when consuming the results only takes minutes?

So tomatoes got replaced by packaged tomato purée, real coconut got beaten down by its powdered and desiccated clones, lemon juice came out of a bottle, and everything got a dose of that wonderful magic ingredient – chicken stock that comes in a cute little packaged cube.

Well, as fate would have it, I got married into a family who doggedly believed that food must be as fresh as fresh can be. If the chicken was not walking around on its own an hour before it was served on the table, it is inedible. Frozen or packaged food were looked upon as the freaky, tattoo sporting punk distant cousins of ‘real’ food. Ready-to-cook food like instant noodles were eyed supiciously, as if they would instantly wreak havoc in unsuspecting bellies.

Right after my marriage when hubby and I were trying to settle into our new home in Bangalore and I was learning the ropes of managing a kitchen all by myself, I brought home a pack of tomato purée. I told him this would save me time in the morning before rushing to work – I don’t have to chop tomatoes or wait for them to soften before adding the other ingredients. He looked at me incredulously, like I was a mad woman talking and finally said, “You have got to be kidding me!” I tried reasoning with him and when that didn’t work, I turned the tables on him and looked at him like he was the crazy one, saying I used this all the time in Bahrain. He smiled and said as sweetly as possible, “That was in the freaking desert! This is Bangalore. You get fresh vegetables here, sweetheart.”

And that was that.

However, after five years of steady brain-washing I have succeeded in getting him to go easy on my ready-made cookery. Okay, actually we’ve met half somewhere halfway. I now try and use the ‘ready-maids’ sparingly and occasionally. Sometimes I do cheat and add them when no one’s watching, telling them to hush when they giggle and gurgle in the gravies.

After having kids I’ve realised how important it is to eat healthy and now I’ve started obsessing about them eating the freshest of the fresh. And when my daughter points to packet of munchies in the grocery store, I look at her and say, “You have got to be kidding me!”

Turning 30

One of the many reasons I love Facebook is that today it made me feel like a superstar.

I turned 30 today, which in itself is a depressing fact. It was difficult enough reconciling with the fact that I’m no longer a teenager. All of the sudden nature conspires against me by making me 30. Where did the last decade vanish? Oh yeah, I was busy graduating, getting married, learning to cook, finding a job, trying to get pregnant, having a miscarriage, finally having a baby, being terrorised by the baby, moving cities, and finally having a second baby. Whoa! No wonder my twenties whizzed by. I completely forgot to stop and smell the roses.

Coming back to Facebook, I am truly touched and humbled with the numerous wishes flooding my wall. More so because I am very very very bad at wishing people on their birthdays and anniversaries. Firstly, I’m bad at remembering dates. Other than my own birthday, that is. Secondly, I guess I am just plain lazy. I mean, the names are there staring at me every single day on Facebook and I choose to ignore them. Today, was an eye opener for me. Some of the people who wished me are on my friends list, but aren’t really my ‘friends’. You know how it is. I probably just added them because we went to the same school. Or because she is someone’s brother’s wife’s cousin who I once chatted with at a wedding. We added each to our respective friend lists, being happy in the knowledge that our number of supposed ‘friends’ is going up, but didn’t really bother to even say hi after responding to the friend request. Who can say that that’s wrong when the feeling is mutual?

But after receiving birthday wishes from almost everybody but Obama and Sanjeev Kapoor (yes, I admit it, the latter is on my list), I’m speechless. Thank you, everyone. Thank you for the wishes, love, regards, prayers, calls, messages, missed calls (sorry about that), everything that made an ordinary girl feel extraordinary. I now vow to stop being so damn selfish and take some time to bring a smile on my ‘friends’ faces when their big day comes up. I’m hoping these little gestures will help build some bridges and then we can finally stop being just another number in each other’s lists.

Change is the only constant

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned my fear of change. Well, it’s happening. Change is happening now! It’s staring me in the face I am not sure if I should run and hide or look at it in the eye and face what it has in store for me. I am not entirely sure I can face it. I’m too fragile right now. I’m ready to break into a million glass pieces that can be swept away into the trash.

Change can be good. It can come as a pleasant breeze that gives things a little swirl, making things exciting and even better than they were. But change can also be harsh. It can be a strong wind that tosses things up in the air and has them twisting and turning, without will, in the melee. Then when done with the torment, it stops and lets them fall back down to the ground. But never will they be the same again. The damage is done.

It is not just change that I’m terrified of, it is the attached unpleasantness that this change is bringing along with it. Or is that just a figment of my imagination? Have I just conjured it up to be an ally to my pessimism?

Stop. Think. Breathe. Tomorrow, when the tide of emotion has calmed, and I can think with a clearer head, I know it won’t look this bad. It will be some time before I truly embrace it. But at least tomorrow I think I will be able to accept it. Accept it for what it is – inevitable and unrelenting. Change.